Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Mercy General
Christmas Day 2006
"Hey, you stupid mick," Briscoe said. "Merry Christmas."
Mike Logan opened his eyes and the trace of a smile tugged at his mouth. His lips moved behind the oxygen mask.
"I'm guessing you're returning season's greetings," Briscoe told his former partner, picking up the visitor's chair and moving it to where Logan would be able to see him without moving.
Logan made an effort. "I said Happy Hanukah, you dumb kike," he whispered.
"Not dumb enough to have any bullet holes in me," Briscoe said. He sat down. "I had a nice Christmas cake for you but the nurses said you're not on solids yet. I'll just have to eat it myself."
That got another tired smile from Logan. "How they going …" he murmured, "with finding the bastard … who did this?"
"They've pulled out all the stops," Briscoe said. "I must be the only cop in the city not working it at least some of the time – me and Wheeler. Your brainy colleagues in Major Case are making a major pain of themselves. Van Buren is on the warpath. Ed Green – you know him? – he's chasing leads night and day."
"So no fucking progress," Logan whispered.
Briscoe sighed. "You're not as stupid as you look, are you?"
"Sometimes," Logan said. "Like, for instance, how's Wheeler?"
"She's okay," Briscoe said. "Running some stuff down for the DA with me."
"Bullshit," Logan said with a little too much vehemence. A cough shook him and gasped in pain.
"You want me to get someone?" Briscoe asked.
Logan shook his head. When he could talk he said: "I want you to tell me the fucking truth, Lennie. For old time's sake. How bad was she hit?"
"She wasn't," Briscoe said. "You were the only one."
"Is she dead?" Logan asked. "Is that what you aren't telling me?"
"No," Briscoe protested. "She wasn't hit, Mike. She wasn't hurt."
"Then how come she hasn't been in here?" Logan whispered. "Don't try and snow me. What happened to her, Lennie? What happened to my partner?"
Briscoe shook his head. "I'm not lying to you, Mike. She wasn't hurt. She just – she just hasn't come."
Briscoe knew Mike Logan well enough to know when he left that the younger detective wasn't convinced. Why should he be? Briscoe thought. Nothing short of a bullet would have kept Logan out of the hospital with a shot partner. Or me.
As he crossed the snowy street, Briscoe saw a familiar crop of red hair through the steamy window of a parked car. He rapped on the window.
Megan Wheeler hesitated, then wound the window down. "You need a lift somewhere, Lennie?"
"How long have you been sitting there?"
She shrugged. "A little while."
He studied her, the new lines around her eyes, the dark shadows beneath – and in – them. "Mike's asking for you. He thinks you got shot up, too."
"Hope you told him different," Wheeler said.
"He doesn't believe me. Doesn't believe his partner wouldn't be in to see him once in all this time if she was still walking around under her own steam."
Wheeler look at him a long few seconds, unblinking, and then turned to look straight ahead through the windscreen of her car. "I can't go in there," she said. "Don't ask me to."
"I'm not asking," Briscoe said pointedly. "Your partner is."
"He's got you," Wheeler said, still staring straight ahead. "He's got Gina. He's fine." She reached for the ignition and turned the key hard enough to make the engine scrape. "Everybody's fucking fine, Lennie."
"Oh, sure," Briscoe said. He stepped back as she started to pull away from the curb, and watched her speed away down the street. "Everybody's just fine."
.oOo.